“What? Why do you want to know that?” He went on impatiently, “Never mind. Everything she had on was in such tatters that it was hard to tell, but we decided that she was wearing a long white dress. Black, patent-leather shoes. Kind of dressy. She looked like she might have come from church. But I sent men around to all the churches within a hundred-mile radius, and they came up with zilch.”

Eve felt a surge of disappointment. Nalchek had already covered the only lead that she had thought might be a possibility. Which only proved how sharp and competent he was. “If not a church, where else would a little girl wear a fancy dress? A party?”

“Search me. I’m still looking.”

The music.

“I have a suggestion. Little children sometimes have musical recitals. They dress up for them.”

“That’s reaching. But I’ll check it out.”

“You’re obviously not going to give up.” She was turning into the airport. “Neither will I, Nalchek. I have to hang up now. I’ll call you when I arrive in San Francisco and have picked up our rental car. Can you give me the name of a decent hotel in your area?”

“Sonderville doesn’t have more than a few hotels. Martello’s Vineyard is pretty nice.” He sighed. “If you’re still set on coming, I’ll make your reservations.”

“I’m still set on coming. Thanks, Nalchek.” She hung up and drove into long-term parking.

The call had not been entirely satisfying, but she knew what she had to face now. Nalchek would cooperate but might be surly. He didn’t want to have anyone getting in his way. She could deal with it. It didn’t matter as long as he was committed, and he was certainly that.

And she had confirmed that the dress in which Jenny had appeared to her was the one she’d worn the night she’d been killed or taken. Where had she gone that night?

And Jenny had suffered that night. Dear heaven, what pain she must have gone through when that monster had broken her fingers.

She drew a deep breath and tried to fight down the anger that was searing through her. Jenny hadn’t remembered the deathblow, but she’d remembered the pain of her hand. Even in the great beyond, that memory had lingered.

Forget it, Jenny. If you can, let it go.

But I won’t let it go. I’ll remember what you went through.

I promise you.

SONDERVILLE, CALIFORNIA

1:05 A.M.

It was damn chilly in the woods tonight. There might be frost by morning.

Nalchek zipped up his leather jacket and moved a little faster down the trail toward the grave site. He could hear the leaves crackle under his feet, Hell, why was he even here at this hour? He hadn’t been able to sleep and had given up after a couple hours of turning and twisting in his bed.

And it was Eve Duncan’s fault. She had made him doubt his ability, and he’d been drawn back here to make sure that he was right, and she was wrong. It had been hard for him to give her the politeness she deserved when he was so frustrated. He didn’t need to begin thinking he might be making mistakes. He had learned in Afghanistan that that could lead to disaster. You just barreled ahead after you decided on a course and went after the objective.

If you knew the objective. It was only a vague—

Movement.

Up ahead.

He stopped.

A light step but not an animal. Two-footed. And the rhythm was different.

And he was headed for the grave site.

Nalchek glided forward, listening.

Not much to hear. That step was very light, and the brush was scarcely moving as he passed.

And then the movement stopped.

He had reached the grave.

Nalchek stopped, too.

No sound.

What was the bastard doing?

He glided forward until he could see the grave beyond the trees.

A figure in jeans and a dark hoodie was kneeling by the grave, reaching, digging through the dirt.

Shit!

“Halt.” He barreled through the trees and dove down in a low tackle. “You’re under—” He stopped as a fist crashed into his lower lip. To hell with it. Read him his rights later.

Just take him down.

He grappled him over on his stomach and grabbed his wrists to cuff him.

Him?

He stiffened. Those wrists were too delicate, that body he was straddling was not—

A woman? Either that or a teenage boy. He’d bet on its being a woman.

He finished the cuffing and flipped her over on her back.

He shined his flashlight down on her face.

Maybe not quite a woman. A girl not over nineteen or twenty.

Her sun-streaked hair had tumbled from beneath the hoodie, and she had glowing, healthy skin, and her blue eyes were very wary.

“I’m not a threat to you.” She moistened her lips. “Are you a threat to me?”

“Maybe. It depends on what you tell me in the next few minutes.”

“I can’t see you. It sounded like you were starting to say I was under arrest before you got rough with me.”

“I didn’t get rough with you. You would have known it if I had.”

“You have on a leather jacket. I felt it when I was struggling with you. It had some kind of insignia on it. Cop?”

“I could be one of the Hell’s Angels.”

“Yeah. I’m hoping for cop. Let me see you.”

He turned the beam on himself. “You might be better off with the motorcycle gang. I don’t like people messing around my crime scenes. Are you some college kid who’s hazing for a sorority?”

“No.” She was studying him with narrowed eyes, her gaze going from his broad shoulders sheathed in the black leather jacket to his muscular body garbed in the tan uniform and down to his black boots. Then it traveled up to his close-cut dark hair, to his craggy cheekbones, square, defined chin, and deep-set blue eyes. “I think maybe you’re right. You look … formidable. I might be better off with a Hell’s Angel.”

“Now that we agree on that score, let’s find out who the hell you are. You’re not a college kid. Curiosity seeker? Do you belong to one of those phony witch covens and are trying to get ritual dirt for one of your spells?”

“You do have an imagination. Why don’t you just let me answer you?” She tilted her head. “You’re the local sheriff? What’s your name?”

“John Nalchek.” He pulled her to a sitting position. “And I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. My next question was going to be what you had to do with the killer who murdered the little girl who was buried in that grave.”

“Nothing. I was just examining the grave and seeing if I could tell if—” She studied his face. “You’re very tough and you’re not ready for explanations yet.” She suddenly gave him a luminous smile. “But maybe you could take these handcuffs off me. Then you could take me to the diner I saw down the road and give me a cup of coffee until you are ready.”

He started to pat her down for weapons. “Or you could tell me your name, and I’ll phone it in and get your record.”

“My name is Margaret Douglas.” She made a face. “And my way is better for all of us. Do you know anything about me?”

“No, but I will after I phone it in. Give me your driver’s license.”

“That’s kind of difficult. I don’t have one.”

“Then how did you get here?”

“I hitchhiked from San Francisco, then walked the rest of the way after I reached Sonderville. You’ve never heard of me?”

“Why should I have heard of you?”

“I thought Eve might have paved the way. I guess she wasn’t sure that I’d show up.”

He stiffened. “Eve?”

“Eve Duncan. She sent word through a friend that she needed me.”

“Why?”

“She thought I might be able to help.” She added simply, “I know pretty much about woods and animals and stuff like this.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“You’re upset. That’s why she didn’t tell you about me. I’m kind of hard to explain.”

“Because you’re a kid who looks like she’s barely out of high school and supposed to be better at tracking and recovery than I am? Yeah, that’s damn hard to explain.”